Fire
by Danja
Summary: The Birds hunt for a serial arsonist.
1. Chapter One

Disclaimer: Birds of Prey, its characters, and concepts are the property of Warner Brothers, Tollin-Robbins Productions & DC Comics.

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Fire

Chapter One

* * *

"Another fire, eh?" said Huntress as she scanned the charred and burned-out hulk of a building that was once Edgely's Furniture store.

"This is the third in two weeks," replied Oracle over the comm. "We may be dealing with a serial arsonist." Oracle paused. "These fires are unlike any I've ever seen."

"How so?"

"No use of accelerants … no matches, paper, gasoline, alcohol, et cetera. Nothing electrical. It's like it came out of nowhere." Oracle paused. "What's more, they've all occurred between the hours of five and eight p.m."

"Couldn't they have used one of those little propane torch thingies?"

"I doubt it," Oracle replied. "If that were the case, the epicenter would have been a lot smaller … it would've started small and expanded. According to Delphi, an entire wall just suddenly burst into flames. What's more, someone entering a store carrying a propane torch would've attracted attention."

"Which one was this, now?"

Oracle paused. "This last one … Edgely's Furniture."

"OK, lemme see if I've got this straight," said Huntress. "Entire walls suddenly going up in flames. No gasoline, matches, or fuel of any sort. No electrical."

"Correct."

_Hellllooo, "X-Files", _Huntress thought. "Think we oughta call in Mulder and Scully on this one?"

In what had to be a first, Oracle burst out laughing at the other end of the comm. "Seriously," she said as she quickly regained her composure. "I think we may be looking for a metahuman here … a pyrokinetic. I don't know how else to explain these fires."

* * *

"Excuse me. Are you … Barbara Gordon?"

Barbara looked up from the papers on her desk and turned towards the voice. A tall lanky man with blue eyes, close cropped curly red hair, and round wire-framed eyeglasses stood in the doorway of the empty classroom. He was wearing blue jeans, a red plaid flannel shirt, and brown brogans.

"I'm Barbara Gordon," she said to the stranger in the doorway. "May I help you?"

"I'm Henry Lazenby," said the stranger in the doorway.

"Oh, yes … the new Freshman English teacher," said Barbara. "You just started this term, if I'm not mistaken."

Henry gave a shy smile. "I was wondering if you could do me a favor," he said. "I'm writing a novel … and I'm told you're the literary type."

"What kind of novel?"

"It's a character study … of a serial arsonist," said Henry hesitantly.

"I see," said Barbara. _Takes all kinds, I guess, _she thought.

"I was wondering if you could come over to my place and review a couple of chapters. It could really use a … fresh perspective."

"Sure," said Barbara. "What day would be good for you?"

"Saturday night at seven?"

"I'll see you then."


	2. Chapter Two

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Chapter Two

* * *

"Can I get you anything?" said Henry to Barbara as they stood in the living room of his apartment. "Coffee? Tea? Ice water?"

"Just some ice water, please," said Barbara in reply. She looked around the room as Henry left to get the water. Henry Lazenby's living room was a shrine to all things firefighters and firefighting. A coffee table book containing photos of modern and antique fire engines lay on the coffee table to her right. A child's toy ladder truck sat on a nearby bookcase. Just below the ladder truck sat a child's plastic toy pumper truck. A four-foot-tall ceramic Dalmatian sat at the ready in a far corner of the room. Fire hydrants, Dalmatians, and fire trucks of every size and composition -- glass, tin, plastic, steel, and cast iron, et al. -- were displayed around the room. A black antique fire helmet hung from a coat tree standing near the door.

Henry walked into the room carrying a glass of ice water and a bundle of papers. "Here's your ice water," he said as he set the glass down upon the coffee table. "And here are the chapters," he said as he passed the papers to Barbara.

Henry settled into a nearby easy chair as Barbara began to read the manuscript:

__

See them running. See them running. Look at the people. See them running … screaming for dear life. There's no escape, though. No escaping the Goddess of Fire. The Goddess is hungry. Her demands are many. She must be fed constantly. No escape from the hungry, undulating flames.

Damn … the Fire Department's here. Have they no manners? Do they not know how to behave in the presence of royalty? Do they not know how rude it is to interrupt a Goddess when she is eating? Do they not know that the Goddess requires her blood sacrifice?

Heart pounding, pulse racing, Mickey gazed longingly into the flames. The sight of the flames -- those dancing, erotic, undulating flames -- sent him into throes of ecstasy.

"It's told from the point of view of the arsonist," said Henry.

"So I've noticed," said Barbara wryly. She set the manuscript on the coffee table and took a sip of water.

"How did you like it?" Henry inquired.

"You have a rather … unique … perspective," said Barbara. Changing the subject, she asked, "So … where are you from? What brings you to New Gotham?"

"I'm originally from Chicago," said Henry. "Grew up on the West Side."

"I see," said Barbara.

"I came mainly because of the money … and the excitement of living in the legendary New Gotham City."

Barbara's eye caught a small camcorder and a pile of micro-videocassettes resting on a nearby end table. She wheeled over and examined the stack. "What are these?" she asked.

"Oh, nothing," said Henry. "Just research footage."

"Did _YOU_ shoot these?"

"Yeah … why?"

"Just curious," Barbara replied.

At that moment, the phone rang from the kitchen. "Excuse me," said Henry as he got up and left to answer the phone. When Henry left the room, Barbara saw her chance to look at the tapes. She slid a tape into the camcorder and looked at the footage through the viewscreen: the footage was that of a raging fire in progress. Barbara took note of the name of the business going up in flames -- Bi-Rite Electronics -- and the time and date codes on the camcorder (August 8th, 5:33 p.m.). _Note to Oracle,_ she thought. _Cross-reference Bi-Rite Electronics with list of … mysterious … fires. _

She studied the tape long enough to see the camera suddenly pan towards the wailing fire trucks that were rushing towards the scene. She fast-forwarded through four other fires -- a jewelry store, a furniture store, a fabric store, and a clothing store --making mental notes of the name of each business and of each fire's time and date code. _They all fit the profile of our mystery arsonist, _Barbara thought. _Each fire occurs between the hours of five and eight p.m._

Each block of footage ended the same way -- with the coming of the fire department on the scene. _Strange, _Barbara thought. _Henry always manages to arrive at each of these fires _AHEAD _of the fire department. _

"See something you like?" said Henry as he entered the room.

Barbara quickly shut down the camcorder and set it down on the end table. "Forgive me," she said. "My curiosity got the better of me."

"I don't see why," said Henry. "There's nothing to see."

_There's more there than you realize, _Barbara thought.

* * *

"He's writing a novel about a guy who gets his rocks off starting fires," said Helena. "And he always manages to arrive at fires before the fire trucks do." Helena paused. "I think he's our guy."

"We don't have enough to make a bust," Barbara replied. "However suspicious his behavior may appear, videotaping fires and writing novels about serial arsonists are, unfortunately, not crimes at this time." Barbara paused. "We've gotta tie him directly to the fires."

"Meaning?"

"We're going to have to catch him in the act."

_Great, _Helena thought bitterly.

"What's more, I believe we're looking for a metahuman," Barbara continued.

"Sooooo … what now?"

"I … or rather, The Oracle … am going to probe his background."


	3. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

* * *

_Encrypted Journal Entry -- Barbara Gordon_

_August 16th_

_I did a facial recognition comparison between Henry Lazenby's current driver's license and the Illinois DMV's files. It turns out that Henry Alan Lazenby was actually born Stephen Douglas Clark on Chicago's West Side (_THAT_ part of his story checks out, at least)._

_Henry/Stephen is thirty-nine, single, and appears to have a checkered past. He has a lengthy juvenile criminal record -- primarily convictions for arson and vandalism -- that dates back to when he was a teenager. He's been in and out of jail, youth homes, and mental hospitals ever since. While in a mental hospital, he was diagnosed as having "paranormal abilities" (specifically, he was a pyrokinetic)._

_I ran a check on Chicago PD's files. There was a string of "mysterious" fires (like these recent fires, there was no use of accelerants) that took place during the time period when Stephen was a teenager. There is one difference between then and now, however -- _THESE _fires_ _took place between the hours of three and six p.m. (which, as luck would have it, were the hours that elapsed between a young Stephen Clark getting out of school and his parents -- his mother, a housekeeper at a hotel; his father, a longshoreman -- coming home from work)._

_He attended Northwestern University and graduated with an undergraduate degree in English Education (In Illinois, they apparently seal one's juvenile records from public view). After graduation, he married an accountant named Lucy Webber and got a job teaching English in a local high school. During all this time, there were no "mysterious" fires reported (I'm wondering if married life calmed him down?)._

_Two years ago, he and his wife divorced. According to the court documents, it was a rather nasty divorce (Mrs. Clark accused her husband of physical abuse and mental cruelty. Mercifully, the couple never had a child). During and after the divorce proceedings, these "mysterious" fires started up again; if Stephen Clark is indeed behind these fires, I'm wondering if they might be triggered by stress? Could he be relapsing into his bad habits in the same manner that a recovering alcoholic might begin drinking again under stress?_

* * *

"OK, we have a possible motive behind these fires as an adult," said Helena. "What about when he was a teenager?"

"I ran a background check on his parents," said Barbara. "His father was an alcoholic and a wife-beater with priors for spouse abuse. Stephen's parents divorced when he was fourteen. The … 'mysterious' … fires began at about that time."

"What would drive him to set fires?" asked Dinah.

"Divorce appears to be the common denominator here," Barbara replied. "In both cases, he might've felt a loss of control … a sense that his world was crashing down around him." Barbara paused. "He may be deriving a feeling of power from setting these fires."

"Sooo … what now?"

"There are too many correlations present to be mere coincidence," Barbara replied. "The fires cease when he's either incarcerated or committed." Barbara paused. "I'm convinced that there's a relationship … there aren't all that many pyrokinetics running around." Barbara paused once more. "I think it's best that we keep him under surveillance."


	4. Chapter Four

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Chapter Four

* * *

_Encrypted Journal Entry -- Barbara Gordon_

_August 30th_

_Two weeks … and no fires._

_Dinah and Helena have been following Henry these past two weeks … and all three of us are getting frustrated. So close … so close we can almost touch it … and yet, so far away._

_I've noticed that our arsonist tends to strike at a lot of older buildings (That is, buildings lacking modern fire suppression and detection equipment -- smoke detectors, sprinkler systems, et cetera)._

_Is he aware of our presence? Surely that must be the case by now. Is that the reason why he hasn't acted? Is he waiting for us to turn our backs on him?_

_I'm convinced Lazenby's our guy. It's not a matter of if -- but _WHEN _-- he'll strike again._

* * *

_Come on, come on, _a frustrated Dinah thought as she shadowed Henry from across the street. _You know you want to … hell, _WE_ know you want to._ Henry and Dinah were walking the streets of the Lower East Side. They had been walking in circles around the block for over two hours now.

"How much longer am I going to have to play 'Ring-Around-The-Rosey' with this creep?" Dinah muttered to herself, not really intending for anyone to hear.

"I know the feeling," said Oracle over the comm. "He's like a mouse that's toying with the cheese in the trap." Oracle paused. "He may be casing another hit."

"Or trying to lose me, one." Dinah looked across the street. In front of her lay a row of small shops: an Italian restaurant, a shoe store, a mini-mart, an office supply store, a barbershop, and a shop that sold men's clothing. She glanced away involuntarily for a second. When she looked back towards the row of shops on the other side of the street, Henry had disappeared from sight.

"Dammit, I've lost him!" Dinah interjected.

"Stay calm," said Oracle over the comm. "Keep a cool head. Keep your wits about you." She paused. "Where'd you last see him?"

"In front of the barbershop, I think."

"Do you know if he made it to the corner?"

"I don't think so."

"He may have ducked into one of those stores."

Dinah sprinted across the street. The air was suddenly filled with the sounds of squealing tires, honking horns, and drivers shouting profanities in several languages as they slammed on the brakes to avoid hitting her. She ducked inside the barbershop and looked down the row of chairs … no sign of Henry was to be found inside. She then ducked inside the office supply store and looked down the aisles … nothing. She now had visions of the entire block going up in flames as she ducked inside the mini-mart to look for Henry.

She looked down one aisle after another, searching for Henry's distinctive lanky physique and red hair. She finally found him in the dairy aisle, examining a gallon jug of milk and checking its expiration date.

Dinah ducked into the next aisle and away from Henry. "Oracle, I found him," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Where is he?" came the reply over the comm.

"In the mini-mart."

"Stay with him this time."

"Roger."

* * *

"I'm sorry I lost him," said Dinah to Oracle back at the Clocktower. "I know I shouldn't have done that."

"Don't worry about it," said Oracle. "It happens to the best of detectives sometimes."

"I shouldn't have let my attention wander."

"OK, you lost him for a bit there," said Oracle. "You also picked up his trail again. That's the important thing."

"I'm not even sure we've got the right guy."

"There haven't been any fires ever since we've been following him," said Oracle. "A guy like Henry is a smoldering volcano." Oracle paused. "Sooner or later, he's gonna blow."


	5. Chapter Five

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Chapter Five

* * *

The shift began like any other. Huntress was following Henry around the Lower East Side -- just as she and Dinah had done for the previous four weeks.

There was something different about Henry today, however -- something that Huntress couldn't quite put her finger on. Something that sent her feline senses into overdrive.

Suddenly, it came to her. Resting upon Henry's back was a small dark blue backpack -- something she had never seen him wear prior to this day.

"Huntress to Oracle, do you copy?"

"Oracle, here. Over," came the reply over the comm.

"You said this guy likes to videotape his fires … correct?"

"He had several videotapes of fires-in-progress in his possession, yes," said Oracle. "Whether or not he set them remains to be seen."

"Today, he's wearing a dark blue backpack," said Huntress. "Care to lay odds that there's a camcorder inside?"

_Could this be the day? _Barbara thought. "I wouldn't rule it out," she said.

Huntress crossed the street and followed Henry into a women's clothing store called Newberry's. A sea of chrome revolving circular garment racks greeted her. Pants, shirts, blouses, and lingerie hung from the racks. Huntress nonchalantly pretended to browse through the racks, keeping an eye -- and nose -- on Henry all the while. She took note of a CO2 fire extinguisher hanging on the wall nearby.

All at once, a blast of warm air hit Huntress's face. Panicking shoppers began running towards the exit. Huntress sniffed the air -- the odor of something burning filled her nostrils. Huntress turned and quickly saw the source of the fire -- several blouses hanging on a rack had been set ablaze, orange and yellow flames leaping into the air.

Huntress grabbed the CO2 fire extinguisher from the wall and with a metahuman leap, jumped on top of the rack where the burning blouses hung and doused the flames with the fire extinguisher. Crisis over.

Huntress looked at Henry. His face contorted with rage, the mild-mannered schoolteacher was gone now.

"GET OUTTA THE WAY!" Henry shouted.

"Hello, Henry," said Huntress. "Or should I say … Stephen?"

"No one's supposed to know about that name!" Henry snapped.

"The Oracle knows."

"Who -- or what -- the fuck is 'The Oracle'?" Henry said with a sneer.

"Right now," said Huntress. "Your worst nightmare." With that, she leaped down and blasted Henry with the fire extinguisher. Henry let out a scream of agony as the ice-cold CO2 touched his bare arms. Huntress blasted him again, pouring it on. With Henry now thoroughly distracted, she swung the fire extinguisher around and cold-cocked him, sending him to the ground … unconscious.

"Huntress to Oracle, do you copy?" said Huntress into her comm.

"Oracle here. Over," came the reply.

"Call Reese," said Huntress. "Tell him we've got our arsonist. Also…" Huntress paused. "Remind him to ask our perp about the name Stephen Clark."

* * *

_Encrypted Journal Entry -- Barbara Gordon_

_September 24th_

_Henry/Stephen confessed to the arsons (It seems that our Huntress has a way of putting a scare into perps). He told the police that he set the fires because "he couldn't do anything else". As a result, he's now been remanded to Arkham Asylum (And into a fireproof cell, naturally)._

_Guys like Henry scare me. They know they're being followed … they know they're being monitored … yet they commit their crimes anyway. In my opinion, they're some of the most self-absorbed people you'd ever want to meet. It's almost as if the rest of the world didn't exist for them._

_In my opinion, this makes people like Henry dangerous … _VERY _dangerous._

THE END


End file.
